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My husband created this rather fitting photograph in an unusual campaigning tactic for the man who most likely will be Richard M. Daley’s successor. My husband’s primary intent (outside of a fiefdom for whom may be the most bad-ass politician this side of the Millenium, I suspect) is to make this go viral. So here I am, in my spousal devotion, helping to facilitate his goal. This apparently is what Rahm looks like when viewed through a gem of true seeing.

That said, the constituents of the country’s most corrupt state will reap the whirlwind, let me tell you, when this man builds his empire in City Hall.

It may seem ironic that the German metal band co-opted by the skinheads would be the inspiration for creating his new moniker, but then again, we are talking about Rahmbo. These two Rammstein songs must be played every time Rahmmstein enters a room:

While these songs are on a loop, rose petals thrown in his path by dancing Republicans in fairy costumes is mandatory, as well. The petals will blacken and turn to dust in his wake just to reiterate that no one FUCKS with Rahmmstein. No one!

Even the Asian Carp of Lake Michigan acknowledge their minion status as they beach themselves as an offering to any sorry sap who even thinks of crossing Rahmmstein. Did you think that sentence ran on too long? Take it up with Rahmmstein. Go ahead, I dare you.

The only mortal who could even consider standing up to Rahmmstein is Chuck Norris . . . oh wait, he just peed in his gi at the thought of a verbal sparring match with Rahmmstein. Never mind. Pah! What a right-wing wussy boy.